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Poem

My wife and I discussed each other,
as if we’re mirrors talking back,
and home truths kind of struck a chord
about some body parts gone slack.
I never thought about my double chin,
and what my stomach had become …
I found it doesn’t pay to comment,
about the size of someone’s bum.

So once the air had thawed a mite
and the facts had been accepted,
we both agreed there is that need
for certain foods to be rejected.
No more potato chips and bacon,
and no more ice cream for the soul;
salami, biscuits, gone forever …
we’re living from the salad bowl.

Of course diet must be supplemented,
to help decrease one’s flabby side.
Some may run and some may row,
and some may buy a bike and ride,
but for a couple who thrived on neglect,
this exercising made us baulk,
it all seemed far too strenuous,
so we decided we’d just walk. 

Now we chose a public park to stroll
along the paths between the grass,
and we met so many just like us
who warmly greet us walking past.
One morn I caught a fleeting glance,
of a hunched up bloke sat on a seat
who looked a bit like Jimmy Cooper, 
a bloke I used to often meet.

And I know this walking caper
for some days near took me breath,
and I might have wheezed a tiny bit,
but I have never looked like death.
Jimmy’s face is drawn and gray,
and when he spoke he did refer
to a dilemma with his ma-in-law
and the crisis that he has with her.
 
I tried to humour Jimmy just a tad
about the antics of us blokes,
“Most find trouble with their ma-in-law 
that’s why we make up all those jokes.”
But Jimmy’s having none of this,
and then he sniveled in dismay
“Some might bicker with their ma-in-law 
but don’t get them pregnant do they?”

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